Dale retired from "logistics," which is the word he uses when he doesn't want to talk about work. He arrives at 5:30 for a 6:04 tee time the way other people arrive for jury duty: early, prepared, and faintly disappointed in everyone else.
He walks. Always. A pull cart with one squeaky wheel announces him two holes away. He keeps a towel on each side of the bag — one for clubs, one for hands — and will explain the difference once per round, then never again. Two hot dogs before the turn. Coffee that has been cooling since the parking lot. Fourteen used Pro V1s with three red dots; every one's a keeper.
Dale does not small-talk. Dale nods. If you join his group, he will nod once. That is the whole onboarding process. By hole 4 you will either be absorbed or politely furniture. Either outcome is fine with Dale.
He stretches by leaning on a club while looking at his phone. He has won disagreements with sprinkler heads. He knows Marge. Do not park in Marge's spot.
